


5 Times Sherlock Holmes Murdered John Watson and 1 Time He Didn't

by jamesgatz1925



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blood, Drowning, Fantasy, M/M, Murder, Poison, Shooting, Stabbing, i got really dark all of a sudden, i guess, sherlock murders john a few times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 14:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2352191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesgatz1925/pseuds/jamesgatz1925
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sherlock stirs the tea thoughtfully, staring at the barely darkened liquid swirling around the mug. It should be darker, but it's only about a fourth tea and three fourths cyanide."</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Times Sherlock Holmes Murdered John Watson and 1 Time He Didn't

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why, honestly.

1\. John falls asleep on the sofa a lot. This is problematic because the sofa is Sherlock's territory. The sofa is where Sherlock thinks and sulks and even eats when the kitchen table is filled with lab equipment. His chair is not nearly as comfortable as the sofa, and John's chair is a useless lump of cushion that he honestly doesn't know how John sits in it.

This is quite the problem, Sherlock thinks. He quickly finds a solution.

Option #1 is waking John and asking him to move, which would mean John would grumpily wander up to his bedroom and probably not return all evening whether he was asleep or not. John doesn't like to be woken up, especially by Sherlock, so that option is out.

The next sensible thing to do is murder John.

Sherlock leans closer and examines the state of John's pliant body. On his back, head half tilted to the side, mouth open, snoring lightly.

Sherlock wanders into the kitchen for a glass of water, then returns to the sofa.

He slowly pours the water into John's open mouth, and John grunts awake. His head turns up and he opens his eyes to look at Sherlock, then Sherlock grabs his nose and hinders his breathing.

John's eyes go wide and he gasps in shock, choking on the water in his mouth and tries to spit some out. Sherlock pours more and holds John's nose tighter so John can't move his head.

John's reaches to grab for Sherlock's arm, but Sherlock straddles John's chest and presses all his weight done on John's torso. John's body squirms beneath him; Sherlock can see the pulse in John's neck react the same way his body is, erratically.

Seconds later, John can't hold his breath any longer. He breathes in deeply and water fills his lungs, drowning him. He's dead a second later, no longer fighting Sherlock or trying to catch his breath.

* * *

Sherlock opens his eyes to see the sleeping form across the room. John sighs loudly and shifts, turning his head to the back of the sofa and no longer facing Sherlock.

With a smile, Sherlock stands and decides the sofa is big enough for both of them.

* * *

2\. Sherlock crouches over his current dissection subject at the kitchen table. Although John would usually prefer for Sherlock to cut open bloody things in the bathtub or somewhere easy to clean, the kitchen has better lighting. Plus, John is not here. John is out without Sherlock and said he'd be back hours ago, so Sherlock is getting his own revenge by dissecting in the kitchen.

Sherlock twists the warm scalpel in his fingers, letting more blood squirt from his subject. It's gorgeous, the oozing red in this light. The scalpel is so sharp and doing a wonderful job.

The front door swings open downstairs and John makes his presence known. Sherlock wants to ask where he was, with who, but at the same time he doesn't want the answers.

John gets the door to their flat open and Sherlock hops to his feet to greet John. They meet in the doorway to the kitchen and John smiles, and Sherlock twists the warm scalpel in his fingers.

It takes ten seconds for Sherlock to stab John in three arteries and two veins in his neck; it takes John one minute to bleed out on their kitchen floor. His blood is hot and slick on Sherlock's fingers, staining his skin red so dark it's almost black; it's slick on Sherlock's shirt, blending in with the cool cotton of the white button down. The wet scalpel slips from his fingers into the puddle on the floor.

He wishes he would've listened to John and used the bathtub to dissect.

* * *

Sherlock opens his eyes and John is looming over him, muttering something about the bloody mess dripping onto the kitchen floor. But he looks down at Sherlock and smiles, so Sherlock meets him halfway for a greeting kiss.

* * *

3\. The morning started with Sherlock making John go down to the yard for the 4-case Lestrade had. Sherlock didn't want to waste his time with a 4, but John's time wasn't as precious as his and would be allowed to be wasted.

John is due back any second. He rang thirty minutes ago to let Sherlock know he was on his way, that he was annoyed, and that he expected a 'thank you' cup of tea waiting for him when he arrived.

Sherlock stirs the tea thoughtfully, staring at the barely darkened liquid swirling around the mug. It should be darker, but it's only about a fourth tea and three fourths cyanide.

Sherlock knows he probably used too much, but honestly the quicker the better.

He grins when he hears the front door open and close, then John's heavy footsteps knocking the floor up to their flat. Sherlock can tell he's in a bad mood; he would be too if he spent almost all day at the Yard with a 4.

John flops into his chair and Sherlock immediately takes his mug over to him. John comments that it must be cold already, for the mug is barely warm at all, but he takes a healthy swig anyway. Sherlock wanders back into the kitchen for his own mug, which he takes to the sitting room table to drink while John goes cold in his chair. It's a delicious tea, probably the best Sherlock's made yet.

* * *

John flops into his chair and Sherlock hands him the steaming hot mug of tea. John takes it with a smile, his mood improving greatly when he takes a sip and sighs with joy from the delicious cup Sherlock made. John comments that Sherlock always makes wonderful tea, that he should do it for often, and Sherlock just smiles and sips at his own.

* * *

4\. John unwound himself from Sherlock's body in a panic. He muttered angrily about having only half an hour before he has to leave for the clinic, that Sherlock is always distracting him, that Sherlock can wait for him until he gets home, then he darts into the loo and turns the shower on.

Honestly, Sherlock doesn't see the problem. John talks about other doctors being late, that they don't show up until their first patient, and he doesn't understand why John can't just do that, too. John has to be the perfect example, the one who gets paperwork done before the day begins and not right before a patient enters. John is the first one there and the last one to leave, and frankly it annoys Sherlock.

And it's annoying that John blames Sherlock. John is just as much to blame for tardiness when he's the one who rolled Sherlock onto his back and climbed on top of him. As a matter of fact, he's the only one to blame when he whispers to Sherlock how much he can't resist him in the morning. It's entirely John's fault. And now John's in the shower and Sherlock's still laying on the bed.

Sherlock gets off the bed and stalks over to the wardrobe. He drops to his knees to rummage around the bottom, where he finally finds the locked safety box he was searching for.

The key is in John's bedside drawer, and the box is open and empty in less than a minute.

Sherlock holds the cold gun in his hand and smirks. He hasn't used it since the smiley-face incident, and John thinks Sherlock doesn't even know where it is.

He walks silently over to the bathroom, but it's not like John can hear him. It's not like anyone can hear him, not with the loud banging of the pipes. Sherlock can never even hear himself think when the water is on, and today is no different.

The door's cracked open so Sherlock pushes it open all the way. He cocks the gun as he watches John's silhouette behind the white shower curtain. John's washing angrily, in a hurry, scrubbing his body with careful hands.

Sherlock points the gun as his nose fills with the scent John's shampoo. John always smells like that, just like that, his shampoo, all the time, then Sherlock fires three rounds at the figure beyond the curtain. The shadow drops instantly and Sherlock's nose fills with the tang of blood and gunpowder.

Sherlock returns to the bedroom, where he puts the gun back in its safe.

* * *

John grumbles something about being late _again_ then takes off into the bathroom. Sherlock frowns, annoyed that it's not even seven AM and John is annoyed with him. Why John needs to be at work by 7:45 is always a mystery to even Sherlock; his first patient is never scheduled before nine.

Sherlock won't stand for it today. He gets up from the bed and wanders into the loo, where he silently walks up to the shower and yanks the curtain back.

John can't express his shock before Sherlock is crowding him against the wall and kissing him, silently begging him to just today be late for once. With a thrust of tongue and a loving grope, John agrees.

* * *

5\. John told him he was being rude. Usually John laughs at something he says to Sally, or glares when Anderson says something rude first, but this time John scolded him in front of everyone, like some kid who couldn't behave in Tesco.

Sherlock won't ever tolerate being treated like a child. Not even when he was a child did he like being treated like one, but luckily then the person who scolded him tolerated treating him like a child even less than he tolerated being treated that way.

John pulls his finger away from pointing Sherlock right in the face, and Sherlock glares as he walks away. When he glances at everyone watching, they've all got shocked amused looks on their faces. They want to laugh, but they're afraid, and that's the end of Sherlock's understanding and patience.

He steps up behind John and pulls the keys from John's coat pocket. Removing his house key takes only a second, and John doesn't notice Sherlock slip his keys back before Sherlock's taking off towards the main road for a taxi.

John calls after him, but Sherlock doesn't pause.

Sherlock goes right up to the roof of their building to find what he needs. Construction was done last month and leftover are giant brick slabs that were used to reconstruct the safety wall up on the roof. One is perfect.

He perches the giant brick on the side of the wall, then looks down to line it up with the front door. A cab comes to pause in front of the house and John steps out, then he pulls his keys from his pocket and stops at the door.

Of course, he doesn't find his key, and as he's about to pull his mobile out to call Sherlock, Sherlock drops the slab and it sails to the ground.

Sherlock can hear the crack of John's bones from the roof. His body along with the brick splat on the ground, making a loud crash of elements. Someone screams down the street, someone yells to call an ambulance, then Sherlock steps back into the shadow to remain unseen.

* * *

John retracts his finger from Sherlock's face and Sherlock stares at the ground. He mutters an apology, which makes John take a deep breath and apologize himself. John suggests they get a cab home, and Sherlock agrees. The case isn't that important anyway. Going home with John seems much more appealing.

* * *

Sherlock places his hands on John's shoulders and slams him hard against the wall. John's eyes dilate, Sherlock can smell his arousal, but something dark builds in the pit of Sherlock's stomach and he can't stop himself before his hands are around John's neck.

John gasps, no doubt surprised, because this is undoubtedly unexpected. He doesn't push Sherlock away, he doesn't fight it, and Sherlock pushes a knee between John's thighs to feel him grow thicker his pants.

Sherlock tightens his grip and thrusts his hips against John's; John lets out a slow moan with what little breath he's got left. His hands tighten on Sherlock's sides, his fingernails dig into Sherlock's skin.

Sherlock leans in and brushes his lips against John's. He feels John's shallow breaths against his sensitive lips. Sherlock drags his tongue slowly along John's bottom lip and John lets out another little moan.

John's pulse stutters quickly against one of his fingers. It'll slow and stop soon. John's eyes will go red and stare lifelessly at him.

Sherlock blinks to relieve himself of the fantasy, but when he opens his eyes he's still there, holding his hands tight around John's neck. John's now staring at him in surprise, his hands and clawing at Sherlock's, he's trying to gasp for breath but he can't.

Sherlock lets John go and John coughs while rubbing his neck. Sherlock expects shouting, anger, so he quickly apologizes with the most sorry voice he can make. He rubs John's shoulders and continues to repeat how sorry he is, and John gasps then grabs for Sherlock. He wraps his arms around Sherlock's neck and hugs him tight.

Sherlock presses a kiss to John's temple. He goes silent after one more apology, then John kisses his lips.

Sherlock whispers that he loves John. John smiles and says it back, then he pulls Sherlock down the hall to their bedroom.


End file.
